


Taut as a Bowstring

by Llama1412



Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [2]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Coda, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fantastic Racism, Gen, Jealousy, Past Character Death, Pining, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Llama1412/pseuds/Llama1412
Summary: Set during(Im)Perfect Strangers. In which Iorveth has had a rough week and something has to break. Fortunately, the Blue Stripes' medic, Pillow Tits, is a good listener.
Relationships: Iorveth & Scoia'tael (The Witcher), Iorveth/Vernon Roche
Series: Don't Cry For Me, Temeria [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1912225
Comments: 15
Kudos: 48





	Taut as a Bowstring

**Author's Note:**

> This is set right after the end of Chapter 11 in [(Im)Perfect Strangers.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26116723/chapters/63530002)

_Last time was better, explosions and all,_ was all Iorveth was able to think as he exited the Captain’s cabin where Roche would be sharing with Saskia and Brigida by decree of the young princess. The same cabin where, on their last trip together, Roche had brought Iorveth mindblowing pleasure and then casually offered himself as a pillow just because Iorveth had said he was comfortable.

And he had been. Iorveth was actually a tiny bit jealous of Anais, and that was ridiculous. But really, she got to cuddle up between Roche _and_ Saskia, meanwhile Iorveth was stuck in the cramped crew quarters on a ship that had apparently run out of alcohol _quite_ some time ago.

“Really? No alcohol at all?” His voice held a plaintive note, but fortunately the Blue Stripes medic he was talking to – who had genuinely introduced himself as Pillow Tits – had so far been the most willing to see elves as people.

Except for Roche. He truly couldn’t believe how much Roche was making an effort to _understand,_ to be better, and even to teach others. It was entirely the opposite of anything he ever would have expected of the man most people considered to be nothing more than Foltest’s attack dog.

“I’m afraid not,” Pillow Tits said, abruptly bringing his mind back to the present, where the truly absurdly large man was inspecting his injuries from Vergen. “What you really need to do is _rest_ this leg. It needs time to heal.”

Iorveth snorted, “not exactly many places to lounge around here.”

Pillow Tits nodded. “I know it’s difficult, but as much as possible tomorrow and once we get to Vergen, please be mindful. If you don’t let yourself heal, it will be worse later.”

Iorveth knew that. Iorveth was over 1200 years old, he absolutely knew that.

So why was it so hard?

“I’ll try,” he conceded.

“That’s all I ask,” Pillow Tits said, his voice oddly encouraging. Maybe Iorveth actually _could_ do this.

He wasn’t sure what “this” was, but right now, existing felt like a struggle, so maybe “this” was everything. 

“If I may,” Pillow Tits began, and Iorveth dragged his head up to look at the man, “you look like you could use some relief. I have some herbs–”

“Yes. Fuck yes,” Iorveth said immediately.

Ten minutes later, he was sitting with his leg slightly elevated and his back against the wall, sharing a pipe with Pillow Tits and stress slowly bleeding off of him. 

“If you’d like,” Pillow Tits said, placing a dish of jerky in front of them. Iorveth immediately reached for some, feeling the urge to actually _eat._ “I often serve as the team’s therapist. Which is to say, if you want to talk, I am happy to listen and nothing you say will leave this room.”

Iorveth blinked at him. “What is it with you, being so – _nice?_ It’s – humans are supposed to be predictable, but nothing about the Blue Stripes has been as I expected.”

Pillow Tits smiled, “I suspect what you knew of us before was much like what we knew of you – a very two-dimensial view based on one’s most notorious actions.”

“So what, all humans are so fucking confusing?”

That had a chuckle bursting past Pillow Tits’ lips. “Well, possibly. But I’m guessing there’s a _specific_ human confusing you?”

“Ugh.”

“Saskia is certainly quite an impressive leader. Seeing her in action has made me feel better about moving to a new kingdom.”

Iorveth blinked. Saskia?

Right, he was always forgetting that no one else – except Geralt and apparently Triss – knew that Saskia _wasn’t_ a human, but was, in fact, an impressive and glorious beast that utterly understood what it meant to fight against extinction.

Saskia didn’t confuse him. If anything, Saskia was the one person who made _sense._ She was exactly who she said she was – aside from the dragon bit; she truly lived into her values and her word was her bond. She was the true meaning of _good_ , and Iorveth had known from the moment he had met her that he was meant to follow her. She made him believe that all of his suffering was worth it, just so that he could bring his people to her. She would teach them how to live and thrive in this world of humanity.

“Iorveth?” Pillow Tits asked, and he realized he’d become lost in his head.

“Oh. Confusing humans – yes. Why is – why does he – ?” Iorveth took a deep hit on the pipe and figured out his words. “The kids are scared of me. That makes _sense,_ that’s what I’d expect. They’re Foltest’s _children,_ of course they’d have learned his hatred. So why isn’t _he–?”_

Pillow Tits tilted his head. “Commander Roche?”

Iorveth hummed. “He’s – he was Foltest’s – _something._ And yet here he is teaching Foltest’s kids about consent and morality and – and antiracism? I mean, what the fuck? How is that the same man who pacified the Makahaman Foothills?”

“People are complicated,” Pillow Tits said. “But from what I know of Commander Roche, if the right reasons were given, he would commit the worst atrocities imaginable. He would hate himself forever for it, but he would do it.”

That drew Iorveth back, though it really shouldn’t have. Roche had even said it himself: if he were ordered to do something like the slaughter of Loc Muinne, he _would._

That should have been enough to drive Iorveth far away from him. So why did he want to get closer instead?

“Why would that man – the man who gently told a child that elves are people – why? Why does he follow Foltest?”

“Hmm,” Pillow Tits said, “there have been times I’ve wondered that myself. Our squad has all learned to wait for Commander Roche to give his orders, because sometimes they’re different from the King’s. Not a lot. But different enough to mean hunting Scoia’tael versus hunting elves.”

Iorveth jerked around to stare at him. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I suspect that if you ask him, the Commander will tell you why.” Pillow Tits shrugged, “and you should know.”

Iorveth licked his lips, “why follow Roche over your King?”

“Because he chose us. He saved me. I – this may surprise you, but Commander Roche knows exactly how much I hated Foltest,” Pillow Tits said and Iorveth gaped. “I’m a medic. These kings wage their wars and leave before they see the horror they leave behind. But me – all the death and destruction, it was too much. I can’t–” Pillow Tits’ voice caught and Iorveth hesitantly scooted closer until their shoulders were pressed together. “I can’t keep everyone alive, and it nearly broke me. But Commander Roche saved me. He gave me a small team I _can_ keep alive, despite their best efforts at times. He gave me a way to continue healing people. So I will always respect him and follow him, because I know that whatever he does or has done, he is the man who saw a fuckup of a medic and gave him a chance.”

Pillow Tits’ breathing was more than a bit unstable and the only thing Iorveth could do was press against him and pass him the pipe.

“I do want to ask him,” Iorveth admitted. “Why do I care? I _shouldn’t._ I know I shouldn’t. It’s bad enough – fucking hell, no wonder Ciaran thinks I’ve gone soft.” And it hurt, just to think of Ciaran and the words that had hit Iorveth like daggers to the heart.

Ciaran had always been his most loyal follower. To see that adoration turn to disgust in Ciaran’s eyes – it gutted him. 

Iorveth’s whole identity was built around the Scoia’tael. He had become a monster for the Scoia’tael. _Everything_ he did was for the Scoia’tael.

And now his most loyal Scoia’tael openly sneered that Iorveth no longer spoke for him. How many others would agree? How many would feel that he’d failed the Scoia’tael?

This was supposed to be a time of victory, dammit. He’d brought the Scoia’tael to Saskia, and they had _won!_ The Free Pontar Valley would be _real,_ and that was almost more than Iorveth had dared to hope for.

Didn’t they understand that humans would destroy them all if they didn’t learn to coexist?

But where once he’d acknowledged that truth with disgust, now he just felt a warm sense of contentment. He _wanted_ to live alongside humans, wanted to live alongside Saskia and Roche and learn how they could work _together_ to ensure the Aen Seidhe survived.

Iorveth could feel himself tearing up and hated himself all the more for it. Maybe Ciaran was right – maybe Iorveth had gone soft.

But he _wanted_ it. He wanted a world where Roche could hold him close and notice his hair before his scars. He wanted a world where half-elves were taught about their culture so that it wouldn’t die out with their blood. He wanted a world where he could sit in a room with a Witcher, a mage, a dragon, and four humans without the children fearing him. He wanted – he wanted to relearn what it was like to live a life that was about more than sheer survival.

“How can it feel so _right_ to go soft on everything I stand for? Does the survival of my species make it okay that I would be a traitor to my race in so many people’s eyes? Fuck, I don’t even know if they’re right.” The tears finally found a way down his cheek and wet his bandana.

“Oh,” Pillow Tits said softly, and then shifted to wrap an arm around him, pulling him into the man’s chest. It...really was quite pillowy, actually. “I’ve always wondered why softness is considered to be a bad thing. The world is so hard already – doesn’t your species _deserve_ some softness? Don’t you?”

Iorveth swallowed around the knot in his throat, feeling the maelstrom of emotion he’d been holding back burst free. 

He didn’t know when the last time he’d truly cried had been, but there was something cathartic about giving into the frustration and confusion and everything else and just _crying._

At some point, he wasn’t entirely certain of when, Rinn had appeared and attached herself to his back. The two lumps on his sides turned out to be Taredd and Sylvar and oh gods, if even _Sylvar_ was being affectionate, then he truly must be a mess. 

Embarrassment tried to claw its way up his spine, but Taredd just moved in closer and fuck, Iorveth needed the comfort, he really did.

Sylvar cleared his throat, “we just came to say – fuck Ciaran. He had no right! And he was wrong – you’re not – it’s not – ugh!” He groaned, frustrated with words and Taredd piped up.

“We think you’re leading us right. We think you’re delivering exactly what you promised us – a future.”

That had Iorveth’s eye welling up all over again and gods, he was probably making a mess of Pillow Tits’ shirt, but the man just held him calmly, humming soothingly.

When he felt like he could breath again, he twisted so he could look at his elves. “You should know – Cedric is dead. Geralt was with him when it happened – he returned to the forest.” 

Sylvar’s inhale was sharp and Iorveth couldn’t blame him. They’d all seen what a disaster Iorveth had been when Cedric had left not just him, but the Scoia’tael entirely. Because Iorveth had _changed,_ because he was cruel and vicious and everything that was apparently unacceptable.

Why did it still hurt so much to lose Cedric when their last meeting had torn Iorveth open and let the breeze take away anything remaining softness he’d had.

Or so he’d thought. What would Cedric think of him now? Iorveth the Human Fucker, integrating the Scoia’tael into society alongside humanity.

Would it just be another instance of watching a face that had once declared eternal love for him turn to disgust and scorn?

Why was it that even though he didn’t think he could stand it if anyone else’s faces crumpled with such betrayal, he still wished that Roche was here as well, stroking through his hair like the man had earlier that day? 

How pathetic was it, to imagine Roche’s touch now, to pretend that blunt fingers stroked through his hair as a face that knew all the horrible things he’d ever done looked at him so very softly?

With his eyes closed, he could almost imagine that he really felt someone’s hands brushing thought his hair, and he felt so warm with Rinn and Taredd and Sylvar pressed against him and Pillow Tits really lived up to his name and all in all, it probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise that Iorveth fell asleep.


End file.
